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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27746767">fourteen grams of steel</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thalius/pseuds/Thalius'>Thalius</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Chapter 13 Re-Write [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon Compliant, Extended Scene, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Goodbyes, One Shot, S2E5 spoilers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:08:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,494</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27746767</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thalius/pseuds/Thalius</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a small thing to remove from his ship, but it was not something that could be easily replaced.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Din Djarin &amp; Baby Yoda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Chapter 13 Re-Write [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034124</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>630</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>fourteen grams of steel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>filoni is denying me the emotional catharsis i require, so this is an extension/soft re-write of the scene where Din goes back to the ship says his goodbyes to the baby.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The walk to his ship was not far, but it was long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was impossible to move quietly through the forest. The duff underfoot was so dry that each footstep crackled, and the slightest brush against a tree branch snapped it in two. He felt too large in his armour, out of place in these sharp deadlands. He didn’t like leaving such a mark in a place like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kept walking anyway, his pace even and carefully measured. The path back to his ship was easy to follow, and every step closer formed another knot in his stomach. This was not like the other times he had left, not even the first time. He wondered if the kid would sense it, if he would understand what was about to happen. His throat tightened at the possibility that he wouldn’t. That the kid would wake up tomorrow and be with someone else and not know why. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lever knob was a heavy weight at his belt, a mere fourteen grams of steel that nonetheless exhausted him from having to carry it. Perhaps it was better for the kid not to know. Din knew what it was like to understand being left behind. The pain would recede more quickly this way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands ached by the time the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Crest</span>
  </em>
  <span> came into view, sore from being clenched into fists. His knuckles didn’t used to hurt like this. He was getting old.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He came to a stop at the foot of his ship, the forest finally quiet again. Its grey plating blended in well with the decaying woods; even the orange stripes looked more dull than usual. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rear ramp descended with the press of a button on his vambrace, unfolding smoothly. His heartbeat crawled up into his throat as the hold came into view. The spear, gripped tightly in his right hand, was strangely comforting. A weapon of his kin, wielded by a warrior he did not know. It made him feel less alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ramp came to settle at his feet after a moment, rustling the forest floor. He took a deep breath, and then another. It did nothing to prepare him. He was already at the halfway point. The walk back into town would be the same distance, take the same amount of time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ducked and walked forward. His boots clattered on the gangplank as he entered the hold, and before he could do anything else, a noise came from his bunk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah!” The kid’s head popped up over the edge of his hammock, mouth agape and hands extended in a demand to be held. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, buddy,” he said roughly, and swallowed hard. “Just hold on a second.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He set the spear carefully next to his weapons locker, the steel letting out a soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>ting</span>
  </em>
  <span> as it rested against the frame. It wasn’t a weapon he was inclined to use, but perhaps he could gift it to another Mandalorian he came across. They could melt it down and make a helmet for their own foundling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reaching behind him then, he unlatched his jet pack and set it carefully on a crate. He wouldn’t need it on the walk back, and part of him didn’t want to risk the temptation to fly away with the kid if he kept it on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands shook as he pulled away from the pack. Clenching them slowly into fists again, he held for a few moments before relaxing his fingers. They were steadier now. Good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to gather your things,” he said aloud, and glanced back at the kid. His hands were still outstretched insistently, a low keen coming from him, but it wasn’t time to pick him up yet. “It won’t take long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking around his cargo hold, Din quickly found a storage crate he could use. He dumped whatever shit he’d been keeping in it haphazardly into another bin and set it down beside his jet pack, then went to grab all the supplies he’d acquired for the kid. There wasn’t much; the blanket Winta had given to him as a parting gift, an extra jumper, some diapers, and the near-empty sleeve of cookies Din had wrestled off him. He’d have to tell Ahsoka to ration those out—and keep them hidden. The kid didn’t like being told no when it came to food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, he tucked all of those things into the crate, taking care to arrange them neatly. It felt wrong when he saw it all collected together now, how little a mark the kid had made on his ship. There should be more. He should’ve gotten the kid more. He didn’t even have any toys.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din gripped the edge of the crate, leaning his weight into it. His breath blew harshly against the glass of his visor. He wasn’t sure when he’d started crying, but hot tears rolled slowly down his cheeks now, wetting the neck of his bodysuit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to do this,” he whispered, and winced at the unpleasant sound of his own voice. He dared to look at the kid again, still waiting to be picked up, still watching him with his big, dark, warm eyes. The kid cooed, fingers outstretched and flexing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din went to him then, pulling him gently out of his hammock and pressing him close, careful not to squish the kid against his breastplate. The steel was cold, not meant to cradle a baby against. He found himself wanting to shed it, but he was grateful it was there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Settling heavily against the edge of the bunk, he let the kid rest on his knee and took a long look at him. If the kid somehow knew the gravity of the situation, he didn’t show it. He was quiet and content, as he always was. As he should be, Din thought. He’d always been a happy baby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can understand me,” he said quietly. The kid’s ears perked up. “When I speak to you. Ahsoka said you could.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A soft coo was his only response. The strain against his ribs made it difficult to breath, his next exhale coming out stilted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His jaw clenched. “You know what goodbye means,” he continued. “It means we go our separate ways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid watched him. Din thought he could gauge his moods pretty well by now, and he seemed calm. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. He certainly wasn’t calm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But we’re gonna—we’re gonna sit here, for a bit first,” he forced out. “Just for a bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t often he’d had to rock the kid for any reason. As he’d told Ahsoka, he was a calm baby. Rarely made a fuss. He was surprisingly easy to look after, all things considered. Din found himself beginning to rock anyway, keeping the kid securely on his knee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steel dug into his shoulder blades where he leaned against the bulkhead, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from the bunk yet. Standing up meant he’d need to start walking towards the ramp, and then he’d be on his way back into town.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid cooed again. Soothing, he thought, and realised how poor a job he was doing of controlling his own emotions. He knew the kid could sense those, too. Slowly, shakily, he reached for the pouch at his belt, his glove catching on the spiralled notch in the lever knob. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held it out to the kid, catching his attention as he turned it under the glow of the overhead running lights. “You can take this with you,” he told him, and let him hold it. “Wherever you go. You don’t need to worry about keeping it on the ship,” he assured the kid then. “I can—I can get a new one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held the kid, watching him bring it to his mouth and suck faintly on the little steel ball. It was a singular fixation he hadn’t been able to replace; not with shiny stones, not with other, less necessary parts of his ship. Whatever the kid’s fascination with it, it wasn’t easily swapped out for something else. Part of him wondered if the kid’s preoccupation with the ball was because it was something Din used regularly, but he shelved that thought quickly. Ahsoka had also told him the kid was attached to him, and he wished she hadn’t. It would be better if he didn’t care; better for both of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Closing his eyes, he bowed his head and brought the kid close. His visor came to rest against his small, soft head, and he was careful not to lean too much weight into it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A few more minutes,” he bargained. The kid’s claws clicked against the cheek of his helmet, a soft coo escaping him. Maybe the kid did understand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t going to replace the lever knob. He couldn’t if he wanted to. No one made parts for ships as old as his anymore.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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